an--" She broke off
as she caught sight of the two brothers standing together near the
entrance.

Eustace turned his restless eyes upon her, gave her a swift, critical
glance and muttered something to Scott.

The latter at once stepped forward, receiving a smile so radiant that
even Eustace was momentarily dazzled. The little brown girl certainly had
points.

"May I introduce my brother?" said Scott. "Sir Eustace Studley--Miss--I
am afraid I don't know your surname."

"Sketchy," murmured Eustace, as he bowed.

But Dinah only laughed her ringing, merry laugh. "Of course you don't
know. How could you? Our name is Bathurst. I'm Dinah and this is Billy. I
am years older than he is, of course." She gave Eustace a shy glance.
"How do you do?"

"She's just thirty," announced Billy, in shrill, cracked tones. "She's
just pretending to be young to-night, but she ain't young really. You
should see her without her warpaint."

The music became somewhat more audible at this point. Eustace bent
slightly, looking down at the girl with eyes that were suddenly soft as
velvet. "They are beginning to dance," he said. "May I have the pleasure?
It's a pity to lose time."

Her red lips smiled delighted assent. She laid her hand with a feathery
touch upon the arm he offered. "Oh, how lovely!" she said, and slid into
his hold like a giddy little water-fowl taking to its own beloved
element.

"Well, I'm jiggered!" said Billy. "And she's never danced with a
man--except of course me--before!"

"Live and learn!" said Scott.

He watched the couple go up the great room, and he saw that, as he had
suspected, Dinah was an exquisite dancer. Her whole being was merged in
movement. She was as an instrument in the hand of a skilled player.

Sir Eustace Studley was an excellent dancer too, though he did not
often trouble himself to dance as perfectly as he was dancing now. It
was not often that he had a partner worthy of his best, and it was a
semi-conscious habit of his never voluntarily to give better than he
received.

But this little gipsy-girl of Scott's discovery called forth all his
talent. She did not want to talk. She only wanted to dance, to spend
herself in a passion of dancing that was an ecstasy beyond all speech.
She was as sensitive as a harp-string to his touch; she was music, she
was poetry, she was charm. The witchery of her began to possess him. Her
instant response to his mood, her almost uncanny interpretation thereof,